


You have a dog, right?

by charliebradcherry



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Adorable Connor, And really wants to meet a goddamn dog, Crack, GIVE HIM A DOG, Grumpy Hank Anderson, He also asks a lot of questions, M/M, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-04 18:18:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15152891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charliebradcherry/pseuds/charliebradcherry
Summary: "You have a dog, right?"The one where Connor really wants to meet Hank's dog, and Hank is going to murder him if he doesn't shut up about it.





	You have a dog, right?

**Author's Note:**

> I love this pairing. I love Connor with dogs. And I love grumpy Hank. Bear with me.

"You have a dog, right?"

Every time a question left Connor's mouth, Hank felt like bowing over his desk and punching him in the face repeatedly until he'd have to send himself back to Cyberlife for a critical mouth surgery. Shouldn't be a problem, right? It would save Hank a day or two of peace. After all, Android's didn't experience any sort of pain (confirmed by Mr. Know-it-all himself) and it usually took approximately forty-eight hours to fix defective androids. Patching their hardware included in the package.

Worst case scenario, Hank fucking loses his job for it, or is forced to empty his bank account to fund the company for a new model to take Connor's place because DPD ain't too happy about finding him on the floor with his knuckles marked into the asshole's front head.

Whatever. Those wealth shitting technology freaks gotta live off somethin' anyway.

Off topic, the simple fact that Connor asked him about his dog even though he had never mentioned anything about having an animal companion was already a strange factor. Hank didn't recall chitchatting with a robot who was programmed to act like it cared -- his time is precious and scarce, and he merely used it to go on a binge, traveling from bar to bar, savoring the sweet taste of whiskey brands. Not even in the ironic sense.

Hank's eyes left the terminal's display to fixate Connor with a mix of confusion and annoyance. "How do you know that?"

"The dog hairs on your chair."

The Lieutenant's eyes narrow thoughtfully and he briefly looks down at the old and worn jacket he was wearing, not really spotting any hair the aging fluffer had left behind by rubbing his fur onto him. And then he realized that maybe he was a fucking idiot himself and he didn't have to make any effort in trying to see because he was human, and androids were naturally more intelligent and had integrated binoculars that could spot one singular hair of his dog that was sticking to his chair. Fucking great.

Hank was about to lose his mind around here.

"I like dogs. What's your dog's name?"

Hank stopped checking the chair at that and turned to glance back at Connor, looking completely disoriented for a second before it got washed over by a grumpy glare. "What's it to you?"

The tone in his voice caused Connor to sit a little bit up straight and break eye-contact with his partner, keeping his eyes trained on his lap this time. The slight, expectant smile that was there recently had vanished, too.

 _Lord_ — he looked like a stricken puppy that got kicked or something and Hank despised it to his very core.

"Sumo," he said more calmly this time, followed by a soft sigh of surrender. "I call him Sumo."

"Interesting name. I like it. Where did it derive from?"

"Does it matter?"

“Does your dog urinate inside the house? I hear they tend to do that in specific areas they enjoy to claim their territory.”

“What the—”

“As a dog owner, you must stay cautious about their health and pay heed to them at all times. According to my internal knowledge, there are over a hundred viral, bacterial, fungal and protozoal infections that a dog can catch." Connor informs him like it has anything to do with the fucking job at hand, "I can list them if you'd like."

"Connor, no—"

"Perhaps listing them in alphabetical order would be more favorable for you."

Hank bumped his fist on the desk to shut him up. He pointed at him from over his terminal.

"What in the hell are you doing?" he started the sentence screaming it and ended it in a whisper when he realized they were still at work, his index finger shaking a little as he did. "Why are you asking me all of this shit?”

“I believe you humans call it small talk," Connor stated matter-of-factly, slightly leaning over his desk like it was supposed to remain a secret between the both of them. "And, I am curious.”

Connor tilted back against his chair with his fingers suddenly crossed in a praying position on his desk. A few seconds later, his eyes shifted over to the corner of the room. It seemed like he was contemplating or patiently waiting for something to happen even though his LED was still swirling blue.

Hank rolled his eyes and turned back to his research in the hopes that not a fucking sound would come from that particular corner of the room anymore and distract him again. Either Connor was only interested in constantly being a nuisance in the Lieutenant’s presence, because at this point in time he was pretty surprised that no one had pondered on the idea that sending this prototype back to CyberLife would spare a human's life. They seriously needed to reconsider fixing this guy’s inner broadcast program and have the number of speeches curtailed.

“Could I meet your dog?”

Here we go again.

“Okay—Ever heard of that game kids still play in second grade where all you do, is shut the fuck up?” Hank gets out through gritted teeth. If he knew in advance that he was ever going to grow into silent madness after bearing Connor's bullshit in the coming future, which was unlikely as he was already as old as a pterodactyl, he’d probably sign in advance to stay in an asylum and play bingo for the rest of his remaining life.

“It’s simple. Just shut the fuck up. Wait until the clock ticks 6 pm and my foot is out of that door,” he pointed at the exit of the precinct, “Then only can you unzip it and chatter with yourself as much as you want you relentless fuck.”

Just when Hank thought that this was his cue to unleash a tear in victory and embrace sweet silence at last, Connor sliced through it yet again and hummed thoughtfully, "That sounds... very..." he trailed off, his LED switching from blue to yellow for a brief moment, and then from yellow back to blue before glancing back at Hank. "Dull."

Fucking androids.

"Shouldn't be a problem for you, right?" Hank spit sarcasm as if it dripped from his charm. "You're an android anyhow."

"Actually, I'd much rather prefer--"

"Thanks, Connor. I appreciate the cooperation." he intentionally shouted over Connor's voice. And surprisingly enough, he succeeded to get him to shut his fly trap and play the fucking game this while he continued to file through all of the stuff he'd gathered from the database that he required for his case.

Occasionally, Connor would do something that caught Hank slightly off-guard through their line of desk work. For example, grabbing the orange sticky notes and experimentally gluing them to his uniform as if to see if they would actually stick for longer than a minute, or reaching behind his terminal to grab at the small picture of Sumo on Hank's desk and stare at it with a dead-ass serious constipated expression.

Hank didn't say a word about it because he really wasn't in need of another futile speech about Sumo catching lethal diseases in the middle of his work.

But when Hank decided that it was time to wrap it up for the day and get himself a goddamn drink, of course he gets interfered by no one other than his best friend, who waited exactly until six post meridiem and for Hank's foot to be out of the door, just as instructed.

"Lieutenant, it is 6 pm!" Connor announced in a haste and stood up from his chair that practically tumbled backward the moment Hank was halfway through the door.

"Whew, you can read clocks? Who would've thunk..." Hank replied sarcastically and leaned against the doorframe with crossed arms. He released a prolonged sigh, rolling his eyes before looking at Connor. "What 'bout it?"

"I would like to meet your dog."

"You already asked me that." Hank raised his eyebrow.

"That was a statement, not a question." Connor clarified like he was the smartest fucker in the world, and fixed his tie like the cheap asshole he was. "And to be fair, you never answered my previous question..."

Hank just stood there and watched him for a moment.

"Hasn't anyone ever told you, other than me, that you're a major pain in the ass?"

“Not in that specific sentence, no.”

“Well, that raises my suspicion.”

Hank's shoulders went slack as he looked at Connor who merely resembled a lost puppy who wanted to be taken home. He exhaled in aggravation and rolled his eyes.

He could resist Connor's stupid pleading eyes. He was programmed to manipulate any individual after all. Hank was just too old to fight it.

“Just for the record, you say one word during the entire trip and I’m hurling your silicone ass in the trunk of my car. Got it?”

"I understand, Lieutenant."

"Alright, come on."

Connor kept his word.

The drive back to Hank's house was as silent as ever... with just a teaspoon of classic rock music playing in the background. Connor sat firm on his seat, eyes glistening as the lights they passed outside reflected back in his eyes. His LED remained yellow the entire time as if he was analyzing the horizon through the window.

Upon arrival, both of them walked through the bed of white snow towards the house, a long trail of footsteps left in their wake.

The moment Hank opened the door, Sumo barked and came off like a hurricane, fit through the small crease and pushed past him, like he'd been waiting at the front door the entire day.

"Hey—!"

With a full body jump, Sumo's front paws landed on Connor's chest and he had the reflexes to attempt and catch him, which ended up with him falling from the porch and into the snow.

A fit of laughter left Connor when licks of approval were being handed out.

"Okay, alright, that's enough, Sumo."

The dog obediently retired from licking Connor's face at his owner's command but didn't exactly make an effort in getting off of him. Connor was trapped underneath the big belly of fur, but he didn't seem to mind. It was warm there. A substitute to a fleece blanket.

"You gonna stay like that, or what?" Hank grumbled, eyebrow raised.

Connor's head popped from under the fur, dribbles of drool falling directly from Sumo's mouth onto his forehead.

 _Gross_ , Hank thought.

"No, I don't intend to."

"Then get the hell from under my dog."

"Do I still get to pet the dog?"

Hank pinched the bridge of his nose. Sooner or later, he was going to go into cardiac arrest. He could sense it.

"Yes, Connor," he sighed and raised his arms above his head. "You can fucking pet the dog. Now get inside before I die of hypothermia."


End file.
